Two Bullet Holes Are Better Than One
by November Lynneus Oradot
Summary: If something awful happened to the Joker...how would Harley react? JxHQ Genre: Romance/Drama/Humor
1. Part 1

**The Joker, Harley Quinn, and Batman do not belong to me. Only in my dreams...**

**Two Bullet Holes Are Better Than One**

-1-

"Well, it could have been worse," said Harley Quinn aloud. She and the Joker's latest scheme…hadn't gone too well.

Actually, the whole thing had simply crashed and burned. Batman, Robin, Batgirl and Nightwing had all interrupted the setting up of a HUGE bomb. It hadn't even been wired yet.

And somehow, Harley felt that it was her fault they had screwed up so badly. She certainly hadn't _helped_ much; Batgirl had chased her outside to an alley, and had nearly maimed her, forcing her to leave the Joker fighting off Batman, Robin _and_ Nightwing.

"Jeez, for one girl, she really packs a punch," whined Harley, rubbing one of the sore spots on her arm, "I'm not gonna be able to walk for a whole _week_." She managed to make her way to the warehouse which served as the Joker's current hideout. It was also the place where they had been rigging the bomb. It was _also_ the place where Batman and Co. had attacked them.

"Aw, shoot," she grumbled, "There's gonna be a whole lotta mess to clean up. And I'm gonna end up as the one who has to clean it."

With a sigh, she pushed open the doors of the warehouse.

"Aw, who turned out the lights?!" Harley protested, stepping forwards into the darkness. "C'mon!" In this gigantic warehouse, finding the light switch would be near impossible.

"Mistah J, where's the light switch?" she called out, stepping forwards and fumbling for a switch.

He didn't answer.

"Mistah J?" she said again, stumbling on a jutting out piece of floor. "Puddin'?"

Still, no-one answered. It was only in silence.

Silence in darkness. Harley was starting to get creeped out. She kept walking and feeling around for a light.

"Hel-_lo_???" she said, a little louder. When she still didn't get an answer, she added, "Is anyone even _here_? Mistah J…"

He was probably mad at her for…for…whatever she had done to screw up this 'mission.'

"I know you're prob'ly all mad at me an' stuff, puddin'," she said, "But I didn't mean to do whatever I did! Honest! I'm real sorry!" Harley listened for the Joker's voice.

It didn't come.

_Great. Now he's ignoring me._ Harley sighed and walked forwards, running her gloved hand along the wall. Her fingers hit a switch. "The lights!" she cried happily. To the Joker, wherever he was, she said, "Hey, puddin', I found the lights, you don't need to worry anymore, 'kay?"

Still walking, she turned on the lights.

However, the lights took a few seconds to actually come on, so as Harley walked in the dark, she tripped over something on the floor.

Of course, once she had hit the ground, the lights came on. "The least he can do is clean up a _little_ after a big fight so I don't kill myself trying to walk," grumbled Harley, moving herself to a sitting position and taking care not to get dirt or grime into the scratch marks all over her body. "What'd I trip on?" She turned.

Harley's eyes widened as she saw that the object sprawled across the floor was none other than—

"Puddin'?" gasped Harley, "Uh-oh…" She scrambled over to him, and knelt by the Joker's side. He was laying face-down on the floor, motionless.

"Jeez, puddin', Batman beat you up real bad, didn't he," she marveled, "You ok?"

He didn't respond.

Harley poked him tentatively. "Mistah J?"

He didn't even move.

In fact, it looked as if he wasn't even breathing.

"Mistah J?" Harley said again, "Puddin'? Boss?" She kept poking him.

Then she saw the bullet hole.

With growing horror, Harley poked the Joker again. And when that didn't cause a reaction, she hit him. And then she kicked him in the side. And then kicked him again. And again. And again.

"You're not gettin' up…" she whispered, "You're not…" And then Harley started to cry, collapsing over the Joker's body, and sobbing hysterically.

He _wasn't_ getting up. He wasn't ever getting up, was he? No, he wasn't…

"No…" she sobbed, "you _can't_ be gone…can't be dead…can't be, can't be…puddin'…oh, puddin'…" Harley's hand automatically curled around his as she gently turned him face-up.

How long ago had they killed him? He was ice-cold, and the blood on him was dried and crusty.

It didn't deter Harley in the slightest. He was still her puddin'—dead or not.

But dead. Dead.

Because…because of…

"Batman…" she murmured, "Batman did this…" Harley became angry suddenly, and she, still holding the Joker's lifeless hand, began to yell. "Batman did this! Batman killed him! Batman's been ruining my life for the longest of times…and Batman killed my puddin'. 'Cuz of Batman my puddin' is dead. He's dead. He's…" She kept repeating it, unable to believe that he was actually…

The thought alone was nearly unbearable. The fact that it was a reality and not just a thought _was_ unbearable. Harley broke down again, collapsing over the Joker's chest and sobbing, screaming out insults and curses to Batman, and Nightwing, and Batgirl and Robin, and everyone else she could think of. Commissioner Gordon, Harvey Bullock, Joan Leland…all of the 'good' people. All of her enemies. All of _their_ enemies.

"Even if you're dead…you're still gonna be my puddin', 'kay?" said Harley, he voice wavering, "A-and I'll never do anything w-without asking you f-first…'c-cuz that's how you'd want me to do everything, right?" Her already fragile state of mind was collapsing.

She had left the Joker before, but then she could always go back when she got over her anger.

He couldn't come back to her. She couldn't go back to him.

Because of Batman. It was always because of Batman.

"It had to be done."

Harley gasped, and whirled around. Standing in the frame of a broken window was the cause of the problem. The cause of her heartache as of now.

The Batman.

She didn't say anything; she just clutched the Joker's hand tighter and stared at him. Her usually bright eyes brimmed with hate. And tears. Lots and lots of tears.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, "But it _had_ to be done."

"You're not sorry," she spat angrily, "How could you be?" Harley stood up. "You never knew him like I did. You never loved him like I did. He wasn't your whole world; he wasn't your entire life. He was to me." Her face grew fierce. "He was just a criminal to you. A wild animal. And to you, he just needed to be stopped." Harley sat again, throwing her arms around her Puddin's body. "You didn't care."

Batman was solemn. "I can't deny that, yes, that's…that's how I thought of the Joker."

Harley let out a choked sob.

"And I was convinced that he was just using you. That he didn't care, that he didn't feel anything for you. I always thought—no. I always _knew_ that he couldn't feel any real feelings—love, sadness, etc. All he ever showed was anger or joy."

Harley raised her tear-stained eyes to him. "Why'd you come here?" she said, "Why did you come back? To reminisce on how much of an asshole the Joker was?"

"He had tried to kill Robin," said Batman, "I couldn't let him. There was a gun on the floor and…" He broke off. "When I arrived back at the Bat cave, I couldn't think straight. I was disturbed by what I had just done."

He didn't tell her that the reason he was disturbed was that his parents had been shot. His parents had been killed with him watching—that was why he had become Batman. Bruce had sworn never to use a gun. But he had broken his own rule. And the Joker was dead. And Harley was crying. And it was his fault.

He knew what it felt like. To have the person or people you loved the most suddenly taken from you.

But that hadn't been the only thing that had unnerved him.

"I was wrong about the Joker," Batman said quietly, "True; he was an insane criminal mastermind. But apparently he was capable of feeling humanoid emotions. And I was wrong about that. I was wrong in telling you that Joker couldn't love, couldn't feel love; didn't love you."

Harley stared at him. "I don't—I—I don't understand—wh-what…?"

"The last thing the Joker said before he died," said Batman, "was that he loved you."

Harley stared at Batman, and hoarsely whispered, "I told you so…"

Then her crumbling mind fell to pieces. And she lost it.

Standing up, Harley began to scream, running about, throwing things out of the way; looking for something.

"There's got to be a way, there's got to be a way, there's got to be…" she screamed, over and over and over again, tearing things apart, searching in drawers and pockets and boxes and bags for whatever it was she was looking for.

Batman dipped his head. "I'm sorry…"

Then Harley found what it was she was looking for, and, taking care not to show it to Batman yet, she sat by the Joker again, and began to talk to him as if he was still alive. Her back was to Batman.

"Oh, puddin', remember how I used to run away…because we'd fight, and we'd get mad at each other, and you'd kick me out, or I'd just run away an' we didn't see each other for a real long time…and then…and then one of us would come find the other…and then we'd be together again," she said softly. The object she had found was in her lap.

"Harley…" said Batman, "Harley, snap out of it…"

"And I told you that we were fated to be together…that no matter how many times we separated, I'd always come back to you. That we were tied together with destiny, and fate, and everything. I'd always come back to you. I'd always come back to you," she murmured, "And I always did…whether you had to come find me, or I came back on my own, I always did, didn't I? Yeah…"

"Harley," Batman said again.

"D'you remember when I first busted you outta Arkham…and…and you were teaching me how to be a good crook…and you were showing me how to kill people…with a knife…and then a gun," Harley continued. She was stroking the Joker's hair with one hand, and caressing the item in her lap with the other hand. "And I asked you how many times to shoot the guy…and you said, 'Just remember this—two bullet holes are better than one.'" Giving a small smile, Harley said, "Well, you were right, puddin'…two bullet holes _are_ better than one."

She took the item out of her lap.

Batman's eyes widened as he saw the gun that had been in her lap travel to her hands and then to her forehead. "Harley—don't!"

"I'll always come back to you…" she whispered.

"Harley!" yelled Batman, "Don't do it! Don't!"

Still holding the gun to her forehead, Harley whispered, "And two bullet holes are better than one…"

"Harley!"

She pulled the trigger.


	2. Part 2

**The Joker, Harley Quinn, and Batman do not belong to me. Only in my dreams...**

**Two Bullet Holes Are Better Than One**

-2-

Harley gasped, waking up with a jolt from the worst nightmare she had ever had in her long history of nightmarish dreams.

The worst part was that it had felt so _real_. Harley pulled her covers around her body, shaking like a frightened baby rabbit. Thinking about her beloved Joker dying was surely bad enough.

But seeing it play out in dream-mode (or nightmare-mode, as the case was) had been absolute torture.

At least there had been one good part to it. Her puddin' had finally admitted he loved her. With his last breath, yes, but still. It was a fact that people showed their 'true colors' in their last moments—the Joker himself had taught her that.

Waaaaaiiiit a second. It had only been a dream. Oh, well (she still knew he loved her).

"But was it really _all_ a dream?" whispered Harley, blinking so hard and so fast that her blonde pigtails almost bounced, "My puddin's not _really_ dead…right?" She listened carefully for the Joker. It was early in the morning. He was probably still sleeping.

"But he laughs in his sleep," said Harley, strainining to hear anything, anything at all.

There was nothing.

"Like in my dream!" Harley whispered, "I walked into the warehouse, and no-one said nuthin' 'cuz Mistah J had kicked the bucket!" She quickly hopped out of bed, and, disentangling herself from her blanket, started towards the door.

Then she stopped in her tracks. "Why am I in _here_?!" Harley said, blinking a few more times. No, no, usually she and the Joker shared a room (lots and lots and lots of whining had forced him to finally give in)….but…then why was she here?...in the basement?

"Oh, yeah," said Harley as realization hit her. She had screwed up one of Mistah J's plans. And he had been so furious that, thanks to her, they had missed out on a 'wonderful opportunity to take out the bat' that he had forced her to sleep in the basement.

At least he had given her a blanket.

On the downside, he had locked the door. Oy.

"Sheesh, when he's mad, he's mad…" Harley muttered, taking out a bobby pin and swiftly picking the lock. The door swung open, and she dashed up the steps to find the Joker.

She was a little scared of what she'd find. He wouldn't actually be dead, right? It had just been a dream…right?

But Harley wouldn't be able to think if she didn't know for sure that her puddin' was a-ok.

She wasn't thinking straight—and that was why she arrived in the Joker's (purple and green painted) room and threw herself on him, screaming, "WAKE UP, WAKE UP, WAKE UP!!!"

"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" Startled, the Joker fell on the floor with a loud scream. Regaining his senses, he sat up and glared murderously at Harley…

…who squealed happily, and hugged him tightly.

"Har_ley_…" growled the Joker, getting angrier by the second.

All Harley said in return was, "You're alive!"

Joker pried her off him. "Yes, Harley…_very_ keen observational skills ya have there…" Pushing her roughly away from him, he added, "Mind explaining to me why you're screaming at the top of your lungs at—" He checked his watch. "—2 o'clock in the morning?!??"

Harley had begun to cry again—now she stopped and gazed at him. "I had a bad dream."

Joker stared at her, then stood and went back to his bed. "G'night."

She pulled him back to her. "No, wait—it was a _really_ bad dream. Dontcha wanna know what it was about?"

He yawned. "Not really."

Harley began to tell him anyway. "We were gonna set off a huge bomb, and the whole Bat Crew came 'cuz…I guess I messed something up—"

"_There's_ a big surprise," cut the Joker.

"—and they came an' Batgirl chased me outside and I had to leave you with Batman and Robin and Nightwing!" She paused and looked at him. "Sorry."

He yawned again. "Whatever."

"So then after Batgirl had left, I went back to our hideout, an' the lights were all out and stuff so I was calling for you and looking for the lights, but I couldn't find them. You know how those warehouses are _really_ big, ya can't find anything there…"

"Don't I know it," grumbled Joker.

"So I was looking and calling and looking and calling, and then I found the light switch and I turned it on—" Harley mimed flipping on a light switch. "But the lights didn't come on for a second or two, so while I was walkin', I tripped on something." She had been walking around, and now she pretended to trip. She fell to the floor at the Joker's feet.

He put a hand to his forehead. "You're trying my _patience,_ Harley…and you know I have very little of that…"

"So I turned—" She turned. "—to see what I had tripped on. And it was you!"

The Joker blinked. "Well, that's stupid. What was I doing lying on the floor?"

Harley started to cry again. "Y-you were dead…I…I saw the bullet hole…and I started crying…" She wiped away her tears and stood up. "An' I started yelling while I was crying 'cuz I was mad at Batman for...for killing you…and then guess who showed up?"

Flatly, the Joker responded, "Santa Claus?"

She sniffed. "B-Batman."

"Oh. I was close."

"And he said that he was sorry that he killed you and that he was sorry he had always told me that you didn't love me 'cuz apparently when ya died that last thing you said was that you did." She looked at the Joker to see how he would respond.

"I don't get it. Did what?"

"Love me."

He snorted, and then went to go back to bed. "Sheesh. Stop fantasizing so much; it's unhealthy."

Harley pulled him back again, ignoring his irritated sigh. "And…and then I really went bezerk, and I looked around 'til I found a gun and then…and then I killed myself… 'c-cuz I couldn't live without ya." She made her fingers into a gun-shape, and then pretended to shoot herself, falling backwards with a 'thud.' "See, like that. BANG!"

Joker gave her a long, confused look.

"Then I woke up. And I was scared! I thought that you might be actually dead, even thought it had jus' been a dream. So I ran over to your room—" She gestured around her. "—to make sure that you were ok." Harley hugged him tightly again. "And you are!"

The only thing he said was, "Are you done?"

Harley nodded.

Joker slapped her, so hard it sent her spiraling across the room. When she hit the wall, he climbed back into bed. "I'm done hearing your disturbed dreams. 'Night, Harl." As he pulled the covers over him, he muttered something along the lines of "…so pathetic it's not even funny…" He was still scowling when he closed his eyes.

Harley stood up and blew a kiss, undaunted by that last blow. She turned on her heel to leave—

—and stopped mid-turn. _What if I have another bad dream?_ Tapping one finger against her chin, Harley studied the Joker. After a moment, she walked back and climbed into bed next to him, wrapping her arms around him.

She could have sworn that she saw him smile.

* * *

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